


Kill Streak

by TheGeekyLibrarian



Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Bloodlust, F/M, Minor Injuries, Mission Fic, Rule 63
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-15
Updated: 2017-09-15
Packaged: 2018-12-25 03:48:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12027471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheGeekyLibrarian/pseuds/TheGeekyLibrarian
Summary: Harry takes on a Russian kingpin with help from Merlin. At the end of the mission, Eggsy's waiting for her.





	Kill Streak

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Deepdarkwaters](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deepdarkwaters/gifts).



> I know this doesn't tick all of the boxes, but hopefully I managed to tick some of them.  
> I hope you enjoy!

“MI6 assures me this mission will be straightforward.” Merlin says into the comm.

On the other end of the line he hears the crackle of Harry's chuckle.

“Don’t they always?”

The image on one of the screens wobbles a bit as Harry moves to straighten her jacket. Sitting with Merlin in mission control, Eggsy follows her movements in the elevator mirror. His eyes linger on her tuxedo, a classic silhouette. He knows Harry prefers it that way, and the screen in front of him broadcasts visible proof that she still has the body to pull it off. Her hair elegantly swept up and the lone string of pearls around her neck completes the look.

There's the sound of a bell, and the elevator doors slide open. In the same second, a shot buzzes past Harry, shattering the mirror. Harry quickly doges, crouching in the corner of the elevator. The two men in mission control startle, but Merlin is quickly scanning the other cameras for signs of the shooter.

The lobby is in utter chaos, at least half a dozen men are brandishing firearms, and the few patrons that are there this time of night are all screaming, crying, and running for cover. All the signs of an MI6 mission gone terribly wrong.

“Straightforward my arse” Harry says through gritted teeth, producing her own sidearm from her holster, before rushing out to join the fray.

She finds her next bit of cover behind a grand piano, almost tripping over the body of one MI6 agent. Crouching down she quickly checks for a pulse. Nothing.

 _This was a terrible idea_ , Harry Hart thinks to herself, knowing that, although she can't see or hear him at the moment, Merlin is in his control room thinking the exact same thing. Departmental cooperation in the intelligence community hardly ever goes according to plan. When cooperating with MI6, that statistic changes from rarely to never. They all know this, and yet, when MI6 had come to Kingsman asking for help to take down the operations of one Anatoliy Markov, they had of course accepted.

Markov has been a player in the criminal underworld for decades, sticking his fingers in every pie, moving from money laundering to drugs to human trafficking with ease, always knowing when to withdraw and when to go all in on whatever the criminal undertaking of the moment is. Lately, the word was he'd tried his hand at politics, in the form of rigging an election. That in itself was nothing new, it happened all around the world, and most of the time MI6 couldn't care less. When said rigged election took place in one of the largest and most powerful western countries however, the tone was a different one. MI6 had decided that Markov needed to be eliminated, seemingly thinking that if he was dead, the organization that he'd built over decades would disintegrate. The thought process, the Kingsman knights all agreed, was somewhat naïve, but when the request for assistance came none of them wanted to refuse. One less kingpin in the world was always a good thing. But the only thing the operation had resulted in so far was a dead MI6 agent at her feet.

Her eyes travel from the dead body on the floor to the room in front of her. It's late at night, so the hotel lobby isn't nearly as crowded as it could have been, and the few patrons unfortunate enough to be there are hiding behind cover as best they can. She counts five cartel members, now strolling towards the exit. Two of them are dragging the unconscious body of a second MI6 agent between them. He's bleeding from a head wound, but he's alive. He must be, she thinks to herself. Probably taken prisoner to be made an example of in whatever way Markov sees fit, because there's no way these people would cart around a dead body unless they had to.

Her mind races. She could kill them, it wouldn't be difficult at this range. And MI6 would probably thank her for returning their asset to them relatively unharmed. But that would mean a mission fail. Game over.

She watches as the group disappears through the glass doors.

"Merlin. I need a car."

"Out, keep right, round the corner, last on the row you get to."

Merlin's voice is calm and methodical, as always, and Harry sends a brief thanks to the powers that be for the fact that they gave her Merlin as a handler. They've had their fights, especially in the beginning of their respective careers, when Merlin was a bit too fond of the rulebook and Harry was too confident for her own good. But now Merlin is her rock during missions, having gotten her out of situations even she thought there was no escaping from, and knowing when to question her, and when not to. 

Holstering her weapon, she stands begins to walk quickly towards the exit. As soon as she knows she's far enough behind for them not to realize they're being followed, she breaks into a run.

The parking lot is blissfully empty of people, aside from a couple of sleepy valets who don't bat an eye at the sight of a woman in an expertly tailored tux running like mad towards a parked car.

"Always was a sucker for a redhead." Harry mutters into the comm at the sight of a Ferrarri, it's signature paintjob gleaming. She's treated to a low chuckle from Merlin as she climbs into the front seat.

"Alright, where am I going?"

"Tracking device should be on screen." The voice in her ear chimes in, and she throws a glance towards the dashboard to confirm, before backing out of the parking lot.

 

They take their prisoner to a sprawling estate in the hills, one she recognizes from the briefing as Anatoliy Markov's favourite weekend getaway. She parks the car a good distance away, and approaches the house on foot. Easier to avoid the security cameras that way. As she cautiously sneaks up to the house, she calls up the floor plan to her inner eye. Foyer, dining room, ball room, basement, wine cellar, library...

She has no idea where they'd torture a government agent, so she'll have to do this quietly. Contrary to popular belief, she actually enjoys going in quiet on occasion. It's true that she does have a flair for the dramatic, and wel... the Kingsman arsenal lends itself beautifully to a bit of theatrics. But she's a spy first, after all.

Abandoning the main road, she works her way around the perimeter, trying to get the lay of the land. There are multiple security cameras and heavily guarded areas throughout, and she comes close to being spotted several times.

"Kitchens entrance looks like your best bet." Merlin's voice suddenly sounds in her ear, almost startling her.

She sighs, and wants to say something cutting in response. The kitchen entrance is on the far side of the house, well away from anything interesting. It's going to mean a long and tedious route through the mansion. But he's right...of course he's right.  

Working her way back, she soon has the kitchen entrance in sight. Only one man in a nondescript military uniform, and carrying an automatic rifle is guarding it.

Showtime.

She quickly sneaks up on him, pulling him into a chokehold from behind, and waits until he goes limp against her. She doesn't bother to conceal the body. They're going to know she's here soon anyway, if they're not already suspecting. The kitchen door is locked, but that's hardly the sort of thing to slow her down.

The first thing she hears is a television off in the distance, other than that the house seems strangely quiet. Keeping an eye out for security cameras, she continues down a short hallway and enters a storage area. Shelves line the walls, stocked with canned food and other non-perishable groceries. Wooden crates are stacked here and there on the floor, and there's a musty smell of earth and produce.

The next room is the actual kitchen, one large enough to feed hundreds, and fitting of an upscale restaurant. But still there's not another human being in sight.

"Second door on your left." Merlin says, and she begins moving.

"Our criminal overlord appears to be planning a bit of a surprise party for you. I see large groups of people in the courtyard and the ballroom. All of them look armed." He adds, and she can almost hear his smile through the speaker.

"Hamish!" She whispers back in a mock scandalized tone.

"How rude, you've gone and ruined the surprise..."

"My apologies." Merlin replies with mock sincerity.

"But I know how you love to crash a good party."

Standing in the abandoned hallway she grins broadly.

 

Merlin's right, the house is suspiciously quiet, and her path to Anatoliy Markov's office suspiciously devoid of obstacles. But she knows what's coming, and her steps take on more and more of a relaxed saunter as she makes her way through the house. Two can play this game.

The top of the main staircase opens up to reveal a large opens space, apparently functioning as Markov's front room. The carpet is red, obviously, and the décor so stereotypically opulent that she feels like laughing. Right in front of her is an oak door, twice as big as it needs to be, and with carvings on every inch of it. Because, of course.

The door slides open on well-oiled hinges, but the room is cast in shadow, the moonlight streaming through the windows the only light.

"Careful." Merlin warns her.

"I see movement below."

 

As if on cue, a light is turned on behind the desk, and the figure of Anatoliy Markov appears. His features reveal that he was probably a good looking man in his youth, but he's grown fat with age and his appearance has suffered for it.  

"Good evening. I've been expecting you."

She smiles at him, as if they'd met in far more pleasurable circumstances and he wasn't responsible for the death of several of her colleagues. He obviously shares her sense of drama, and she can appreciate that. It doesn't change the fact that he's clearly bluffing.

"I take it that means you've broken my colleague. That was quick work." She remarks, keeping her voice even and to the point.  

He shrugs, his entire body jiggling with the motion.

"Did you kill him?"

Markov fixes her with a piercing stare, and the shark-toothed grin is back."

"No. I kill him later. You first."

 _Not bloody likely_ she thinks to herself. She hears the footsteps now, pounding on the stairs. Thirty...fifty? She cannot be sure.

"Get ready," Merlin's voice sounds in her ear.

"Here they come."

She takes a deep breath to brace herself and turns away from Markov's shark grin. From outside she can hear shouts and commands in Russian, and the door is thrown open, a flood of soldiers piling into the room. She doesn't need to stop and think, this is familiar territory. Her fingers find the grip of her gun easily, and she has her gun drawn the same moment she finished the spin to face the door.

Before her attackers even realize that she plans to fight back, she's killed three of them. Single gunshots to the head, quick and easy. One steps towards her, aiming to take the gun from her, but she manages to put a bullet in him too, before two others manage to get close enough to stop her. One puts her in a chokehold while the other goes for the gun, but she easily breaks free, shooting one, before rounding on the other, stabbing him with his own knife, that she's managed to slip out of its sheath.

It feels very satisfying. She's never admitted to bloodlust, but that's what it is, the rush she feels as she continues to punch, kick, shoot and maim her way through this personal army with her gun firmly in one hand and whatever weapon she can grab in the other. Bloodlust, and thirty years worth of skill.

She spent the first twenty years of her life trying to fit into the sort of life a young woman from a good, aristocratic family ought to have. But it never felt right. She was too aggressive, even then, too angry, too violent... Then she was recruited to Kingsman. And all the things she thought she should never do, they'd taught her to do better, until they'd created Harry Hart, one of the world's most lethal spies.

When she's once again the last woman standing, it's as if she snaps out of a daze. She's covered in the blood of the men she's just slaughtered, her tuxedo ruined and her hair a mess. She doesn't care. As frightening as it is to admit it, she feels alive.

She straightens, and brushes an imaginary speck of dust away from her sleeve.

She feels a strange calmness, as she eyes Markov carefully. She's the predator now, and they both know it. The expression on Anatoliy Markov's face is one of pure terror. He's just watched a middle-aged woman decimate his entire private army, a feat he undoubtedly thought impossible.

"Who are you? Who sent you?" His voice reaches a high pitch as he tries and fails to disguise the panic that's visibly gripping him.  

"Mossad? Beijing?"

She raises the double-barreled handgun, pointing it directly at his forehead.

"No."

The shot echoes in the silence, followed shortly by the thud of a final body hitting the floor. 

 

* * *

 

"I thought your getup was supposed to be bulletproof?"

His voice comes from somewhere behind her, and when she adjusts her view in the mirror she can see him in the doorway. His eyebrows are still drawn together in a worried frown, but his voice doesn't sound so shaky anymore, and she's relieved to hear it. Eggsy had greeted her when she returned to her hotel room, and been horrified and impressed in equal measure at the state she was in.

"Up to a point, my dear. But nothing is bulletproof if you have a big enough gun."

She smiles at him in the mirror, before shifting her attention back to her own disheveled appearance. This mission certainly did a number on...well, everything. Her hair is a mess, her elegant updo ruined, and she carefully begins the task of removing the hair pins from the rats nest. As she works her way through, Eggsy steps into the room and settles on the bed, watching her. When she drops the last hairpin and glances over her shoulder at him, one eyebrow raised in question, he says:

"Are you gonna tell me it's not gentlemanlike to stare?"

She takes him in for a moment, calling up the image of his naked body to her inner eye. She'll never understand why he still insists on wearing those ridiculous baggy clothes when he's proved without a doubt that he can work the hell out of a three piece suit. But the exercise in imagination isn't a bad one, she decides, catching his eye again and letting her lips curl into a devilish smile.

"No."

She looks back at herself in the mirror. Her tuxedo is beyond saving, having been almost completely covered in blood, and ripped and torn in the fight. She glances back at Eggsy, who's watching her intently, before she slowly begins to undress.

She only needs to remove her cufflinks to hear a soft noise that sounds almost like hurt but isn't forming in the back of Eggsy's throat. In a heartbeat she has a young man who almost trips over himself to assist her. He helps her off with the jacket, only to press himself closer again as soon as it hits the floor. It's very enticing, and she lets out a little moan of her own when his warm, impossibly gentle hands undoes her bow tie and tug at the buttons of her shirt.  

The bruises that mar most of her torso have deepened to dark purple splotches, and they're certainly not a pretty sight. Fortunately for her, Eggsy doesn't really care about 'pretty'.

"Poor Harry..." he murmurs into her ear, wrapping both arms carefully around her from behind.

"They really did a number on you, didn't they?"

She murmurs an acknowledgement.

"I'm getting slow."

She feels his lips curve into a smile at the base of her neck.

"You took out three guys in a single motion." He replies, his lips planting a soft kiss on her skin.

"Slow ain't the word, love."


End file.
